Reductos on Three
by Lily meet Ginny
Summary: As Harry and Cedric stood in front of the cup, little did they know that one different spell could change everything. Set during the Third Task. One-shot


It happened rather quickly. Just as Harry spotted Cedric running toward the cup, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Towering over the hedge to his left was a sight he'd hoped to never see again after his rendezvous during second year- an acromantula. The acromantula was immense, and Cedric –making a mad dash toward the cup- was set to run into it.

"Cedric, on your left!" Harry hollered, sprinting forward.

Cedric looked up and caught sight of the huge spider in front of him. He attempted to skid to a stop, but ended up tripping. He barely kept a hold on his wand as the gigantic spider stepped into the path and began to bear down upon him.

"Stupefy!" Harry yelled and the spell connected, but the spider barely jerked. It wasn't enough firepower. Harry was reminded of the dragons, where it took multiple stunning spells to bring it down. Instead, the acromantula changed directions and began to charge at Harry.

"Stupefy! Impedimenta! Stupefy!" It didn't do any good- if anything it made the spider even angrier. Harry barely had a chance to react before the spider was upon him. He had one horrifying glimpse of eight shining black eyes and razor-sharp pincers before he was hoisted into the air. He aimed a kick at it but instead caught his leg against the pincers. He yelled in pain.

He could hear Cedric yelling "Stupefy!" too, but his spell had no more effect than Harry's. Harry raised his wand as the spider opened its pincers once more and shouted "Expelliarmus!" It worked, but that meant that Harry had a long drop to the ground below. He rolled as he landed, getting his wand back up.

"Harry!" he heard Cedric call out. "Reductos on three!"

At three, he aimed at the spider's underbelly and brought his wand swishing down. The two spells combined and slammed into the acromantula, barreling it backwards in a shower of blue sparks. The acromantula careened backward, eight legs flying, before knocking into the Triwizard cup- only for both the cup and the acromantula to disappear.

Harry turned to look at Cedric, only to find him just as surprised as he was.

"That wasn't supposed to happen, was it?" Harry asked.

"I've never heard of anything like that happening before. I'm guessing that was a portkey, but the rules state that the tasks must take place on the property of the whole school, in proximity to both the viewers and the judges…" Cedric trailed off. "Yeah, let's just be glad we didn't get to touch it," he finally said.

"What do you reckon we should do now? Shoot up sparks or walk back in?"

"Might as well shoot up sparks and get out of this blasted maze," Harry said bitterly. "Never know what we'd find going back out."

With a wave of wands, two wands simultaneously shot red sparks into the air. It was only a matter of minutes before both Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall came into view, with Professor Moody trailing after them. They could hear McGonagall muttering, "Not letting two of MY students stay in danger without going after them." Judging by the death glares she kept sending Moody, it appeared that he'd suggested that she stay put while he went in after them.

"Cedric, Harry, what seems to be the problem?" Dumbledore asked, being the first to reach them.

"Sir, an acromantula fell into the cup and they both disappeared," Harry blurted out.

"We think it probably was a portkey," Cedric added, stalwartly.

At this, Dumbledore lost his good-natured smile. In an instant, his features became cold. He drew his wand and slammed a spell into the ground, instantly causing all of the hedges to recede into the ground. He stood on level ground, eyes flashing dangerously, wand pointed at Professor Moody. Professor McGonagall was quick to follow his lead, as were Harry and Cedric.

The façade that had been Professor Moody was lost when he drew his wand and cast at McGonagall. She, however, was not a Transfiguration Mistress for nothing. In seconds, she had dodged the spell with surprising agility, disarmed him, and transfigured the grass into a large rock, which encased Moody, leaving only his head free for breathing.

Dumbledore strode up to Moody

"What were you playing at?" he asked softly. His eyes twinkled briefly, before he reeled back. "Barty Crouch?" He studied the imposter's face. "That explains quite a bit."

As the visitors watched, Mad-eye Moody's face faded away, morphing into the face of Barty Crouch.

"There's nothing you can do to stop it, Dumbledore," Crouch yelled. "The Dark Lord will return tonight, and I will remain to all his most faithful follower..." He licked his lips and grinned wildly. "The time has come for darkness to rise again! Be…" But suddenly he cut off. All of the color drained out of his face, and he refused to speak another word. He didn't even say a word when the dementors came. But had anyone bothered to look, they would have seen the dark mark on his arm, a stark and pallid white against his milky skin- a contrast to the inky black it had been moments before.

* * *

"Wormtail, the time is approaching," Voldemort hissed. He could feel the portkey activate. How he had waited for this moment. "Go greet our guest at the portkey site."

Wormtail sighed and grabbed his wand. He would do as his master bid him to, but he couldn't help but to feel that the plan was about to go incredibly far south. The Dark Lord had insisted on using Potter for the ritual, when just about anyone else would have worked. Voldemort could have been back in his own body several months before and gaining power (and not criticizing him for missing a feeding). But no, the Dark Lord had insisted that only the boy would do. There was something more than a little creepy about his fascination with Potter, but Wormtail wouldn't be the first to bring it up. He walked up to the site they designated to be the portkey arrival point and waited for a few seconds before letting out a shrill scream, which was quickly cut off.

You see, acromantulas aren't necessarily the most coordinated travellers by portkey. Their legs go in every which direction, and they tend to land in a heap-especially when caught mid-fall. Wormtail no longer needed to worry over whether he would truly be appreciated by the Dark Lord for sacrificing his right hand. No, several hundred kilos and eight flying legs ensured that Wormtail no longer needed to worry about anything, complete with a resounding splat.

Now this particular acromantula certainly wasn't happy. He had been bound in that dratted maze for several days and had not been fed even once. He was a strapping young acromantula, and needed energy for his growing body. Even more energy would be needed for an adventure. So when he caught a whiff of something that smelled good, he didn't think twice about teetering to his feet and moving toward the source. After a few steps, he found a small, ugly human at his feet. It was screaming insults about wands and killing all of the acromantulas. Now that wasn't nice. The youngling grabbed the ugly baby in its pincers and devoured it, almost more to shut it up. However, the tasty morsel was gone far too quickly. The acromantula set off, in hopes of finding more food.

The acromantula returned to the graveyard a bit later, mostly satiated from the sausage cart he had eaten- cart and all. He was making sure he hadn't missed anything tasty when he happened to bump into the cup again. In a swirl of color, the acromantula found himself back at Hogwarts. No one paid him any attention due to the uproar, and the acromantula was able to creep back into the Forbidden Forest without a problem.

* * *

"Now Cornelius," Dumbledore chided. "We didn't need to suck out his soul. He could have had useful information."

The minister had been present at the third task (due to it being a ministry sanctioned event) but had felt the need to call in not just backup, but a dementor as well. Dumbledore had thought he had made it clear that he adamantly refused to have dementors on Hogwarts grounds, but apparently not.

"Information? He was deranged! I doubt he had a lick of useful information." Cornelius countered.

"He could have told us where the portkey was going to appear, and what had been planned," Dumbledore continued.

"We already know where they were," Cornelius answered exasperatedly. "Little Hangleton. The acromantula was roaming around there, terrorizing the town. It tried to eat a statue, for Merlin's sake, before moving on to the graveyard again. The muggles actually rioted over the damage to that statue. Apparently it was of someone important. The President of Little Hangleton's Historical Society was seen chasing down the acromantula! We had to obliviate him for his own sake." He rubbed his temples. All of this so called excitement was giving him a migraine. "It's been a logistical nightmare! The obliviators will be working overtime on this one, that's for sure."

As Cornelius walked off, Albus pondered on the mystery of the acromantula. If Voldemort was back, why hadn't he just done away with it, rather than leaving it to roam the town? He decided he would need to investigate Little Hangleton himself. Something didn't add up.

* * *

Fifty two obliviates later, the situation was finally under control. The statue of the weird muggle was finally back in one piece, the damage to the graveyard had been repaired, and the acromantula had disappeared along the way. However, a cursory search of the area had lead to some interesting discoveries. First, the graveyard revealed signs of the preparation for an extremely dark ritual. The Unspeakables and curse-breakers had been called in to safely clean up the ritual area. From there, one Unspeakable had branched out to see whether the ritual had contained an extradited pivot point for stability. That lucky Unspeakable had the fortune to stumble upon a thoroughly squashed body. Although squished, the victim was still alive. He was transported to St. Mungo's for treatment. It was while he was being treated that the peculiarities started adding up.

It was standard protocol at St. Mungo's for unidentified and unrecognizable patients to have their magical signature identified and cross-referenced with the signature on file at the Underage section of the Improper Use of Magic office at the Ministry. However, when the results came back, the Healer in Charge actually reran the test. The results came back the same. Both scans indicated that the patient in front of him was none other than Peter Pettigrew. The allegedly dead Peter Pettigrew. Ironically, one of the Healers in Training noticed the real indicator.

"You know our patient is missing a finger, right?" she asked softly. "I just find it funny because my mum always told me that the biggest piece they found of Pettigrew was his finger…" She trailed off, examining the patient in aberrant fascination. It didn't take long to ensure the patient was in chains. After all, it wasn't every day that a dead patient returned to the world of the living, and there was no reason to take chances.

It would take a week before Pettigrew could be questioned at all, first at the hands of the DMLE, and then in front of the Wizengamot. However, veritaserum was allowed in both cases- it made the questioning quicker and allowed Pettigrew to return to his narcotics-filled world with greater speed. It was in front of multiple witnesses that Peter Pettigrew told Amelia Bones that he had been the Potters' secret keeper, that he had killed the twelve muggles, and that he had framed Sirius Black. After a repeat in front of the Wizengamot in a full trial, Peter Pettigrew was imprisoned in Azkaban and Sirius Black was publicly proclaimed innocent. His first act as a free man was to take custody of his godson. It was the first time Harry knew what it felt like to have family.

As for Pettigrew, much of the crush injury could not be repaired. Although the healing staff at St. Mungo's was able to regrow his bones, he had suffered too long. Much of his muscle tissue and nerves had undergone necrosis due to increased vascular pressure. He was left in Azkaban paralyzed and unable to ever change into a rat again.

* * *

The final odd occurrence wouldn't be noticed for many years. A curse-breaker in the area had commented in his report about large amounts of dark magic in the vicinity. Albus Dumbledore, who had travelled to the ministry in hopes of learning something new, happened to chance upon this report. Upon skimming it, he immediately set out to Little Hangleton. It was much to his surprise that the large amounts of dark magic were not radiating from the old Riddle house- the place where he assumed Tom would be holed up. Instead, the taint led him a mile down the road to a beat up shack. The air reeked of death. Dumbledore carefully pulled on his dragon-hide gloves and opened the door. After removing the numerous cursed that lingered on almost every aspect of the property, he found the anomaly. He reached down and yanked up the floorboard. Beneath lay a ring. Dumbledore couldn't make out any details about the ring in the dark, but he could sense several curses on it. He levitated the ring out of the hole and felt oddly compelled to put it on. In an instant, he slammed his mental shields into place and the odd feeling disappeared. It only took a moment to levitate the ring into a lead box and seal it. When he returned to Hogwarts later that evening, he placed the lead box in a special drawer in his desk that contained the remains of a tattered diary. He would examine it much later.

* * *

Deep in the woods of Albania, a spirit appeared. It was much more bedraggled than it had been the last time it had been here, but still (mostly) in one piece.

Albania. Why was it Albania every time? Why couldn't he have been doomed to wait in his rightful land, in Britain? Even France would have been better than Albania. But no. He had returned to Albania and would be doomed to wait for either one of his followers to find him or for some poor soul to come across him. Dimly he felt a touch of hope, for Barty Crouch knew where to find him. Surely he would come. But as days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, that hope faded away. He was left to wait indefinitely.

* * *

Back in the depths of the Forbidden Forest, the colony of acromantula gathered around a youngling. That youngling had managed to leave the forest, wreck mayhem on the world around, do what no spider had dared to do, and returned home safely after a second encounter with the portkey. The colony seemed to be in awe of the rash decisions the youngling had made, and his tale of adventure continued well into the night.

At last, every detail of the adventure had been replayed and nothing more could be added. As the last of the group filtered away, one remained standing. His blinded eyes revealed more emotion than they had over the past fifty-two years. With a burning hatred evident on his every feature, he whispered into the dark.

"Revenge. Not only a right, but an absolute duty, a duty I've been waiting a long time for. My only regret is that my grandchild had to do it in my honor."

The wind whipped through the clearing, but the acromantula did not move.

"We've finally gotten our revenge on you for everything you've done to us, Tom Riddle."Aragog smirked. "Better luck next time."


End file.
